"You mean that your young lover will want to know with whom you've been flirting, eh? Well, you can mislead him again, as you've done many times before. What a fine thing it is to be an accomplished liar. I always envy people who can lie well, for they get through life so easily." He spoke in a familiar tone, as though he held her beneath an influence that was irresistible. "I am no liar," she protested quickly. "The lies I have been compelled to tell have been at your own instigation." "And to save yourself," he added, with a dry, harsh laugh. "But I didn't bring you here for an exchange of compliments." CHAPTER TWELVE. THE MORNING AFTER. "Then why have you compelled me to meet you again?" she demanded fiercely, in a tone which showed her abhorrence of him. "The last time we met you told me that you were going abroad. Why haven't you gone?" "I've been and come back again." "Where?" "That's my business," he answered very calmly. "Your welcome home is not a very warm one, to say the least." "I have no welcome for my enemies." "Oh! I'm an enemy--eh? Well," he added, "I have always considered myself your friend." "Friend!" she echoed. "You show your friendliness in a rather curious manner. You conceive these dastardly plots, and then compel me to do your bidding--to act as your decoy!" "Come, come," he laughed, his temper quite unruffled by her accusation, "you know that in all my actions I am guided by your interests as well as my own." "I was certainly not aware of it," she responded. "It cannot be to my interest that you compel me to meet you here like this, at the risk of discovery. Would it not have been better if our meeting had taken place in London, as before?" "Necessity has driven me to make this appointment," he responded. "To write to you is dangerous, and I wanted to give you warning so that you can place yourself in a position of security." "A warning!--of what?" she asked breathlessly. "La Gioia is here." "La Gioia!" she gasped. "Here? Impossible!" La Gioia! It was the name I had found written upon the piece of paper beneath her pillow. "Unfortunately, it is the truth," he responded in an earnest voice. "The contretemps is serious." "Serious!" she cried in alarm. "Yes, it is serious; and through you I am thus placed in peril!" "How do you intend to act?" "I have no idea," she responded, in a hoarse tone. "I am tired of it all, and driven to despair--I am sick to death of this eternal scheming, this perpetual fear lest the terrible truth should become known. God knows how I have suffered during this past year. Ah, how a woman can suffer and still live! I tell you," she cried, with sudden desperation, "this dread that haunts me continually will drive me to take my life!" "Rubbish!" he laughed. "Keep up your pluck. With a little ingenuity a woman can deceive the very devil himself."